


Haven

by Aglarien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/pseuds/Aglarien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One stormy night in Imladris, a pair of elflings learn the story of Elrohir and Lindir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keiliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/gifts).



Beta: Phyncke  
Disclaimer: The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns these elves. I promise to return them when I’m done playing with them.   
Author’s Note: Written for Keiliss for 2009 Ardor in August  
Request: Elrohir/Lindir. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious, just tell me a story, something I can print off and snuggle down in bed with. I'd rather have a good G-rated fic than something depending on smut to fill the pages. Not essential, but if you like prompts: a tapestry, howling wind, the words 'rain bird from Mordor'. No sweet, gentle little Lindir (most musicians are neither). 

 

The two elves sat in the deepest recesses of the library, far from the reach of the damaging sunlight. Reflections of flickering flames from carefully burning candles danced eerily on the stone walls, the only sounds the rough scratch of a quill on parchment, a turn of a page, or the careful unfurling of an ancient scroll. 

An unexpected sound, a hollow rumbling, made the younger of the two elves look up from his work. “Did you hear that?”

“Hmmm?” Lindir replied, his quill pausing over the page in mid-stroke. 

“Sounds like thunder, but the weather was fair this morning.”

Taking advantage of the break, Lindir laid his quill down, stretched his arm and flexed his fingers. He and Elrohir had been working for several hours, carefully copying a collection of ancient scrolls containing the music of Doriath. Rescued from destruction by Celeborn’s people and finally brought to light, the Elf-lord had sent them to Elrond to be painstakingly copied and preserved. Celeborn knew that no one would keep the treasure contained in the deteriorating scrolls safer or copy them more meticulously than the Elves of Imladris. “The weather can turn quickly this early in the spring,” Lindir said.

Elrohir smiled and nodded, enjoying the sound of Lindir’s deep and melodious voice lightly echoing in the secluded area they had chosen as their workspace. “I should remember, as many times as we’ve been caught in an early spring shower over the years.” Another hollow rumbling sounded, but this time it was prolonged and accompanied by the rattle of windows in the outer room. “That does not sound like an early spring shower, however.”

“No,” Lindir said, standing, capping his ink bottle and blowing out candles at the same time. “It doesn’t. Come – we need to help secure the house.”

The air sizzled and the house lit up with lightning brilliance before another deep rumble rolled though the valley. Inside, elves hurried to close and shutter windows and doors; outside, they hastily herded the horses, cows, sheep and goats from the fields to the safety of the large barns. Elrond’s power extended to control of the River Bruinen, but he could not, and would not, control the natural way of things and the weather. The sheltered valley of Imladris would, on occasion, have to bear the brunt of a heavy storm, held back from passing over them by the natural barrier of the Misty Mountains. 

The sudden, bitterly cold wind howled. Lightning flashed, the thunder closer upon its heels, and the cold rain began to fall in a heavy downpour. 

“Where is everyone?” Elrohir asked, running to help his slender law-sister push a heavy door shut against the wind, while Lindir ran to the other side of the house to make sure the windows of his music room were securely bolted shut. If the rain blew into the room and destroyed music and instruments, the loss would be devastating. 

The wind blew Anoriel’s long blonde hair around her face before they finally closed the door. “Arwen took the children,” she answered. She took a moment to lean against the door and catch her breath. “Elladan and Ada Elrond are checking the healing wing and barracks, and Naneth has gone to the kitchens. Glorfindel went to take charge of the Great Hall and the rest of the house, and Erestor is directing the safety of the livestock and outbuildings.”

Elrohir nodded, looking around the library. “Come on,” he said, anxiously taking Anoriel’s hand and leading her to the stairs as the wind wrenched shutters out of the hands of elves trying to secure them. “Go to the family quarters and help Arwen. I’ll help secure the rest of the windows and doors in here.”

Forty minutes later, Elrohir and the remaining elves made one final round of the offices, library and scriptorium, checking for lit lamps or candles before parting ways to join their families. It was normal for the day’s work to stop because of a heavy storm. There was plenty of work securing the house and outbuildings, and there would be plenty more cleaning up from the storm’s effects when it had passed. The afternoon was growing late and this storm boded to be a heavy one, but the kitchen staff would still be cooking for a simple evening meal, and there were probably hot drinks and biscuits already set out for any who wanted them. 

The family wing of the house contained numerous private suites and common rooms, and Elrond’s family and chief advisors would usually gather in the largest of Celebrían’s sitting rooms for a time, once everything was made fast. Elrond would first hear reports on the preparedness of the valley’s residents, livestock, crops, and buildings for the storm. After the business of the realm was taken care of, it had become their routine to share stories with Elladan’s growing elflings, in part for their education, and in part to keep the little ones calm. 

Elrohir quickly climbed the stairs and traversed the halls leading to the family wing, looking forward to the cup of hot tea he knew his mother would have waiting. Changing his now damp robes and getting into something dry would be welcome too. Deciding to report to his father before changing his clothing, he stopped at the sitting room to make his report. All thoughts of hot tea and dry clothes fled in the face of the scene that greeted him. 

Lindir lay on a chaise, the color drained from face, his eyes closed. His dark brown hair was streaked auburn with blood and vivid red stains stood out sharply on his pale skin. Instead of his earlier dark green robes, he wore one of the warm white robes from the healing rooms. Elrond knelt to one side of the couch, just finishing wrapping a bandage around Lindir’s forehead. Elladan knelt on the opposite side with a bowl of water and cloth, carefully dabbing at the bloodstains on Lindir’s face and neck. 

“Lindir!” Elrohir choked out the name. “Ada! What happened?” Only his training as a healer kept him from sweeping Elladan aside and taking his place. His brother was as capable a healer as he himself was, and he knew better than to interrupt his father and Elladan while they were caring for a patient. “What is all the blood from?” he asked more softly. 

Lindir’s eyes opened the second he heard Elrohir’s voice, and he smiled at the younger elf, although he feared it probably looked rather lopsided. “I will be fine, Elrohir. Truly,” he said quietly. 

Elladan finished cleaning the minstrel up and moved aside, making way for Elrohir, who he knew wanted to get closer to Lindir.

“Come and sit next to him,” Elrond told Elrohir softly, expertly finishing Lindir’s bandaging and reaching for the cup of tea held out by Celebrían. “He will be just fine, although his head will probably ache for a couple of days.” He pushed one arm under Lindir’s shoulders. “Let me help you sit up, my friend. You will feel better once you get some of this hot tea into you, and then you can lie down and rest again.”

Elrohir quickly shed his damp outer robes and sat beside Lindir, grateful that his shirt and leggings were still dry. 

Sitting up, Lindir took the cup from Elrond with a tiny, cautious nod, and then leaned against Elrohir as the younger twin sat beside him, a strong arm wrapped around him for support. “It is just a cut,” he told Elrohir. “It looks worse than it is. You know how head wounds bleed.” He sipped his tea, relishing both the warmth of the liquid and the warmth of the younger elf. He had lost a lot of blood and he felt cold. He shivered slightly and was rewarded by Elrond covering him with a blanket and Elrohir holding him closer. He was so very tired.

“Just a cut,” Glorfindel harrumphed, hovering just out of the way of Elrond and Elrohir. “That’s why I found you unconscious, the cold rain pouring in on you.”

“What?” Elrohir demanded, looking rapidly between Lindir and Glorfindel. “Unconscious?” 

“Luckily he was not unconscious long,” Elrond said. “The wind took one of the shutters in the music room as Lindir was closing the window. A tapestry was knocked from the wall and the rod struck him on the head.”

“When I walked in there and saw you lying in all that blood, I confess I felt more than a moment of panic,” Glorfindel said, finally settling down on one of the room’s many couches. “The water from the rain made it look even worse than it was.”

“Thank you for finding me and carrying me here,” Lindir said wearily. “I’m just glad it was you who found me. I know it couldn’t have been easy to carry me.” Although he was deceptively lithe, Lindir was as tall as Glorfindel and no weakling. Elaborate robes usually hid the muscles of a capable fighter. “I fear I bled all over the tapestry of your battle with the Balrog, however,” he added with a small apologetic grin. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Thank the Valar,” Glorfindel muttered. “Always hated that thing.”

“Yes, that’s why it was banished to the music room,” Elrond said with a chuckle. “Glorfindel may forgive you, but I don’t know about the needle workers who made it. You may owe them a song, Lindir.”

“I will pay the price gladly,” the minstrel answered. “When I am feeling better.” He yawned. 

“You may sleep, Lindir,” Elrond said softly. 

“Is it not dangerous, Ada?” Elrohir asked, concerned. “What of his head injury?”

“I do not believe the injury is dangerous,” Elrond answered, reaching out to gently stroke Lindir’s bandaged head as the minstrel fell asleep. “He is weak from the loss of blood, however, so we will need to wake him after an hour or so to eat and drink.”   
“Of course I haven’t said I forgive him for bleeding all over my favorite tunic,” Glorfindel said to no one in particular. “And where is Erestor? He should be here already! I’m giving him five more minutes to show up before I go out after him.” 

“He is here,” Erestor answered as he opened the door and stood in the doorway, looking more like a half-drowned cat than the usually regal-looking elf that he was. “The animals are safely sheltered, including the stupid sheep that panicked and took off in the wrong direction and started a stampede. We may need to replant the south field again if the storm is as heavy as it looks and sounds right now.” His words were punctuated by a booming roll of thunder and the pelting of rain on the roof. “The outbuildings are locked up tight. I am now going to get out of these cold, sopping clothes so I don’t drip all over Celebrían’s sitting room floor.” He stepped out of the doorway and the door closed after him. A moment later it opened again. “And Glorfindel, I’d appreciate someone having a large glass of miruvor waiting for me when I get back.” The door closed, but when Erestor realized what he had seen, it opened again almost immediately. “Lindir? What happened? Are you all right?”

“He will be fine, Erestor,” Elrohir said softly, answering for the sleeping Lindir. He smiled up at the advisor. “He was hit on the head. Go and change and we’ll tell you when you return.”

Erestor looked at Lindir, concerned, searching the minstrel’s features. He finally nodded and then left for the chambers he shared with Glorfindel to get dried off and changed. 

Glorfindel chuckled as he stood and went to the sideboard to pour Erestor’s drink. “My poor Erestor,” he said quietly. “He really looked like a drowned rat.”

“I think the sheep got the best of him,” Elladan added, trying to stifle his laughter. It wouldn’t do for his children to see him laughing at Erestor’s misfortune. The fourteen year-old Ellaer sat beside Anoriel, and Elrond had just picked up Ellaer’s twin, Elwen. Elladan smiled at the sight. Elwen already held a special place in Elrond’s heart, much like Arwen did, but where Arwen had her father’s coloring, Elwen was as fair and golden-haired as her mother and grandmother. In contrast, Ellaer had his father’s sable colored hair. One child of night, one child of day, and Elladan loved them more dearly than his life. 

“Grandfather, will Uncle Lindir really be all right?” Elwen asked. Already the elfling possessed a kind and loving heart, and a disposition toward herb lore and healing. She had watched her father and grandfather take care of Lindir and she was genuinely worried. 

“Yes, he will be fine in a few days, little one,” Elrond responded, placing an affectionate kiss on Elwen’s brow. “Your father and I tended to his wound and your uncle Elrohir will take good care of him.” 

“And did you give him awful tasting herbs to drink to make him better?” Elwen asked most seriously.

Elrond stifled a laugh and responded, equally as seriously, “I gave him herbs to drink, just the same as you drank when you fell and hurt yourself. Do you remember?” 

Elwen nodded. “Oh, poor Uncle Lindir,” she lamented.

The elder elves smothered their chuckles in a cup of tea or behind their hands, or in Elrohir’s case, with his face buried in Lindir’s thick, dark hair. 

Elrond hid his smile by holding Elwen close to his chest to comfort her. Over her head, he winked at Ellaer, who rolled his eyes at his sister. He had complete faith in the healing skills of his father, grandfather, and uncle. Whenever he hurt himself – which was often for such a rambunctious elfling – they always made it better. If Grandfather Elrond said that Uncle Lindir was going to be fine, that’s all he needed to hear. 

For a while the elves sat quietly in deference to Lindir, the silence broken only by a crack of thunder and the pounding rain. A now dried Erestor returned and curled up on the couch next to his mate, savoring Glorfindel’s warmth. Servants brought a tray with fresh, hot tea and biscuits. 

Celebrían poured the tea and served it around the room, and as she placed a cup into Elrohir’s hand she whispered, “I remember the very first time that your father placed you into Lindir’s arms. You were all of a day old.”

“And from that day, Lindir could always tell you and Elladan apart. He was the only one, other than your mother and me, who always knew.”

“Of course, that also meant he always knew it was me,” Elladan said with a soft chuckle. “Made it hard for me to get away with anything with him.”

“Unlike Erestor and me,” Glorfindel added. “You two were scamps of the first order.”

“And did you see something special, Grandfather?” Elwen asked excitedly, not interested in how badly behaved her father and uncle were as children, having already heard those stories a hundred times. “When Uncle Elrohir was little and you gave him to Lindir?”

Elrond smiled at his granddaughter’s simple understanding of his gift of foresight. “I saw that Lindir was going to be very special to Elrohir,” he said. “I did not know how special until later.”

“Will you tell me that story?” Elwen asked. “Please, Grandfather?”

“Now that’s a story best told by your Uncle Glorfindel.” Elrond replied, grinning widely. “It was he who set all of it in motion.”

“Actually, it was one Haldir of Lórien who did that,” Glorfindel said. He held out his arms, inviting the children to join him and Erestor on the couch. Once they were cozily seated, Ellaer on his lap and Elwen on Erestor’s, he began to speak, weaving the magical tale. The room quieted as all listened to the storyteller’s musical voice, the pelting rain and claps of thunder no longer noticed. Where Glorfindel skimmed over an event, Erestor would join in, filling in the gaps. 

 

~Glorfindel’s Tale~

Many years ago, long before Ellaer and Elwen were born, long before Elladan wed Anoriel, Elrond and his family journeyed to Lothlórien to visit Celebrían’s parents, leaving Erestor and Lindir in charge of Imladris. Elladan and Elrohir were barely past their one-hundredth begetting day, and Arwen was not yet a twinkle in her father’s eye. They were gone for many months, accompanied by Glorfindel and a large escort. It was the first time since their birth that the twin sons of Elrond had left Imladris, and as dearly as they loved their home, they relished the opportunity to visit their grandparents in Lothlórien. More importantly, they would finally get to meet the many Galadhrim they had heard so much about at their mother’s knee. The stories they had heard did not lie, for the people of the Golden Wood were beautiful to behold, with their long, golden hair and lilting voices.

As all things will, their visit came to an end and they finally returned home. All of Imladris was assembled in the courtyard to welcome them. When the formalities concluded and Erestor had thrown himself into Glorfindel’s arms, dragging his mate away, Elrond took Lindir aside to speak to him privately for a moment. 

“Lindir, my old friend,” Elrond began, “I would be grateful if you would speak to Elrohir.”

“I notice he seems awfully dispirited. I thought he was just tired from the journey. Did something happen in Lórien?” Lindir had noticed immediately that Elrohir was not at all his normal pleasant, happy self. 

“I’m not sure. He will not confide in me or his mother, and if he has spoken to his brother or Glorfindel, they are not speaking of it. It is my hope he will confide in you, since he considers you his closest friend. I heard a rumor that he was attracted to one of the Galadhrim, but nothing came of it that I know of. See what you can find out and if you can lift his burden, will you? It pains me to see him so troubled.”

Lindir nodded and gave his old friend a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Leave it to me.” Escorting Elrond to his quarters, he continued down the hall to Elrohir’s rooms. 

After knocking and being granted admittance, Lindir entered the room to find Elrohir sullenly unpacking his bags. “Would you like some help?” he offered.

Elrohir gave his old friend a hint of a smile and shrugged.

“That happy to see me, are you?” Lindir jested. “Well, I have missed you and am very happy to have you home again.” Saying no more, be began to pick up the items Elrohir removed from his bags and put them away. When they finished, he gently steered Elrohir to sit beside him on the younger elf’s bed. “Now,” he said softly, “tell me what is bothering you.”

Elrohir relaxed against Lindir, and when the elder elf placed an arm around his shoulders, he sighed wearily. This was Lindir. He could confide in Lindir. He always had. “When I told him that I loved him, he said he didn’t…he couldn’t…love me,” he whispered. “He wouldn’t speak to me about it after that.” He buried his head against Lindir’s neck. “My heart hurts, Lindir.”

“Who?” The question was quiet. Lindir had always suspected that Elrohir was attracted to males, and the young peredhel had just confirmed it.

“Haldir.”

Haldir? Lindir would never have guessed that the trusted Marchwarden would be the cause of Elrohir’s pain. “Would you like me to go to Lórien and kick his blond arse all the way to Mordor for you?”

A smothered chuckle came from the vicinity of Lindir’s shoulder. “Yes, please.” His laugh grew louder as Elrohir envisioned Lindir kicking the Marchwarden across Lórien. He hugged Lindir, smiling up at him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You always make me feel better.”

Lindir smiled and stroked the top of Elrohir’s head, smoothing his soft, dark hair. “Do not worry, Elrohir,” he said softly. “There is plenty of time for you to find the one you are meant to be with.” With a chaste kiss to the younger elf’s brow, he stood and said, “I will have a servant bring you something to eat and drink since it is a while until the evening meal. After you have refreshed yourself, rest for a while. We will talk more after dinner tonight.”

Unseen by Elrohir, Lindir’s eyes narrowed as he left the room, and twenty minutes later he was out on the archery practice field, bow in hand. Deadly arrows unerringly struck their target as the tall, dark-haired elf nocked and loosed one after the other. 

“…right in your black heart,” Lindir muttered, loosing another arrow which split the arrow in the center of the bull’s eye. “Not fit to lick his boots.” Twang. “Not worthy to even look at him.” Crack. “How dare you hurt such a precious elf? If I see your miserable face around Imladris, you’d better run.” 

With a frustrated cry, Lindir stalked to the armory to select a sword and left in search of prey to work off his aggression. Finding two newer recruits sparring with each other in the barracks yard, he challenged them both at once. It was when he had one of the poor elves pinned against a wall and the other paralyzed in fright watching that Glorfindel descended upon him, pulling the minstrel away from the young, inexperienced elves with a roar of righteous indignation.

Glorfindel motioned to Erestor to care for the two frightened recruits as he dragged the panting, sweating Lindir to the ground. “Lindir! What has gotten into you?” he demanded furiously. “You could have killed those two youngsters! What were you thinking?”

Lindir gasped for breath, shaking his head, and finally the passion that had held him loosened its grip. “He hurt our Elrohir, Glorfindel,” he finally whispered. “Haldir hurt our little Elrohir.”

“Elrohir is no longer little,” Glorfindel said, shaking his head. “Have you looked at him lately? He is a grown elf, and he must learn to deal with life’s disappointments.” He stood and extended a hand to Lindir.

Lindir pulled himself up, finally looking at Glorfindel, his expression remorseful. “Did I hurt those two young ones?”

“No,” Glorfindel responded. “Luckily someone came and pounded on our door to come and stop you. Erestor was none too pleased and will probably have words for you later.” 

“Then I owe him an apology as well as those two recruits of yours,” Lindir said, turning to pick up his sword. He would return the weapon to the armory later. “Forgive me, Glorfindel. I don’t know what got into me. Seeing Elrohir so heartbroken like that...” He shook his head to clear it.

Glorfindel sighed and guided Lindir back to the minstrel’s rooms. He was quite sure that he knew what had gotten into his old friend, even if Lindir didn’t. Once they were safely closeted behind closed doors, he poured them both a glass of wine from the bottle on the sideboard in the sitting room. “So it was Haldir,” he finally said, handing Lindir his drink. “No wonder. We figured – Elrond, Celebrían and I – that it was something like that, but Elrohir wouldn’t say. Not even to his brother.”

“How could Haldir hurt him like that?” Lindir asked, staring into the purple depths of his glass. “How could anyone not love him?”

Glorfindel looked at the minstrel in surprise. “Do you not know? Well – apparently Elrohir didn’t either.” With that mystifying remark, he stopped, having heard footsteps approaching down the hall. He moved to pour a third glass of wine, walked to the outer door, and offered it in greeting as he opened the door to Erestor. 

“You!” Erestor glared at his long-time friend, pointed a long finger at the minstrel, and downed the glass of wine in one inelegant gulp. “You are lucky I like you!”

“Thank you for looking after those two young guards,” Lindir said abashedly. “Are they all right?”

“They will be,” Erestor said, handing his glass to Glorfindel to refill. “It was good training for them, and I told them so.” He sat on a sofa, accepted a fresh drink from his mate and stared at Lindir for a moment. “Since you still owe me for disturbing my reunion with Glorfindel, would you mind telling me just what in the hell got your feathers all in a dither?”

Erestor was very quickly updated with what had happened and why, at which he gave Lindir a confused look. “Haldir would hardly have broken Elrohir’s heart on purpose, and there was little he could do except to tell our foolish young peredhel no – and a blunt no at that.”

“What?” Lindir asked, looking between Glorfindel and Erestor. “Why?”

“Lindir,” Glorfindel said patiently, “what you apparently do not know, nor did Elrohir, is that Haldir is newly wed. Consider his position!”

“What?” Lindir was shocked. “Oh, Valar. That’s why he told no one. Elrohir was too embarrassed.”

“Exactly,” Erestor agreed.

“So just what do you intend to do about it now?” Glorfindel asked.

“Do? What do you mean? What is there to do but give the lad someone to talk to?” The minstrel’s face reflected his puzzlement.

Glorfindel sighed and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Lindir. I gave you more credit than that. You have been in love with Elrohir ever since his majority. Admit it – in your secret heart of hearts you know it. In the silence of your chamber, I’ll warrant he consumes your thoughts and has done for years. So I repeat, just what do you intend to do about it now?”

Lindir rose and refilled his goblet. Downing it in one gulp, he stared at Glorfindel, as if expecting the golden-haired elf to have all the answers. Glorfindel was right about one thing: he had loved Elrohir ever since the twins reached their majority. Just *what* was he going to do about it? Taking a deep breath, he said, “I am going to court him.”

~~~~*~~~~

“And then Uncle Elrohir and Uncle Lindir got married!” Elwen squealed, bouncing happily on Erestor’s lap. 

“Eventually they did,” Erestor admitted, bending his head to place a chaste kiss on the happy elfling’s brow. She was altogether too precious, he thought. “But it was not for several years and their nearly driving each other to despair.” He smiled. “You see, little one, elves in love frequently do silly things. Just ask your Uncle Glorfindel. Or your father, for that matter.”

“I was never silly,” Lindir said softly.

“I was,” Elladan admitted under his breath.

Glorfindel wisely kept his mouth shut.

“You are awake!” Elrohir said, bending down to nuzzle against Lindir’s neck while holding him close. “How do you feel, love?”

“Better, but I would dearly love some tea,” the minstrel admitted. “I am very thirsty.”

After Lindir had been fortified with tea and everyone had partaken of a light supper of sausages wrapped in savory pastry, Ellaer asked, “What did Uncle Lindir do that was silly?”

“I was never silly,” Lindir protested again, now seated against his mate, half reclining on the couch. 

“Of course you weren’t,” Elrohir said, hiding his smile. “You always sang like a rain bird from Mordor.”

“What’s a rain bird from Mordor,” Ellaer inquired, looking up at Glorfindel, whose lap he still occupied.

“It’s a squacking, discordant creature,” Glorfindel said, “who sings off-key, destroys harps and flutes, and drives everyone in its general area totally mad.” His words were punctuated by a sudden crack of thunder and pelt of rain from the continuing storm. 

Erestor chuckled inwardly at Glorfindel’s colorful description. ‘Squacking’ just about described it.

“Don’t listen to him, Ellaer,” Lindir said. “There is no such thing as a rain bird in Mordor. Mordor is arid and never gets any rain at all.” He arranged himself more comfortably against Elrohir. “I was upset and sang off-key. It was all Elrohir’s fault anyway.”

“What did Uncle Elrohir do to make Uncle Lindir sing funny?” a whispering Elwen asked Erestor from her perch upon the elder elf’s lap. 

Bless the child, Erestor thought, bending his head to kiss her blonde locks. She was too adorable for words, and if Elladan wasn’t careful, Erestor was going to persuade Glorfindel to help him steal the elflings and flee to the coast. Elladan and Anoriel were most fortunate that Erestor loved them as much as he did their offspring. “Elrohir didn’t quite understand that Lindir wanted to court him and went out walking by the waterfalls one evening with another elf.”

“See?” Lindir said. “I told you it was all your fault.”

Elrohir snorted. “’Twas not. You’re the one who told me to take the time to explore other relationships. How was I to know you meant I was only to explore a relationship with *you*?”

“But then something happened that straightened everything out,” Elrond said, finally joining the conversation. He and Celebrían had been simply sitting and enjoying the warmth of their family and friends. 

“What happened, Grandfather?” Ellaer asked. 

“Perhaps you two would like to tell them?” Elrond replied, nodding to Elrohir and Lindir. 

“Do you remember?” Elrohir asked quietly.

Lindir shivered. “How could I ever forget? I almost lost you.”

Ellaer perked up. The earlier story had been one his sister liked better, but this sounded more interesting. “What happened, Uncle Lindir?”

“After the incident when Elrohir went out walking with another elf and my music was….well, less than pleasant, shall we say, your grandfather decided that his sons should lead the next patrol that was leaving, and they did. I would sometimes still go out on patrol back then, but obviously I didn’t that time. I remained here in Imladris. It’s important that you understand that.”

Ellaer nodded. “You remained in Imladris.”

“I remained in Imladris,” Lindir repeated. “I was here. Your grandparents, your mother, Glorfindel, Erestor – they all saw me. We had dinner together, and after we ate, I retired to my rooms. There was no way I could have gone to where your father and Elrohir were. They were already several days’ journey away, at the foot of the Misty Mountains.”

Elwen and Ellaer looked at each other, and then at the adults in the room. All of them appeared a little…funny, especially Uncles Elrohir and Lindir. 

“That night,” Lindir continued, “I had a dream. There was a battle between the elves on patrol and a band of Orcs. I saw it – as clear as I see you now – and in the battle I saw Elrohir fighting three of the evil creatures – and they…they…”

Elrohir’s arms tightened around Lindir and he rested his cheek atop his mate’s head. “Lindir saw the three Orcs about to overpower me. I was weakening; I had already taken several blows from their blades and was wounded.”

“I saw it too,” Elladan added quietly. “I could not get to Elrohir to help him. I was fighting for my life and those of our soldiers, and if I had tried to go to Elrohir, the Orcs would have killed me. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall, strongly built, dark-haired elf. He was armed with a great sword and heavy armor. He threw himself into the fray, standing in front of Elrohir. He was like a wild creature, swinging his sword, crashing into the Orcs. When it was all over and the Orcs were all dead, the mysterious elf was gone.”

“Who was he, Ada?” Ellaer asked, enthralled. “Did you see his face? Did you know him?”

The room was silent for a long moment.

“Yes, I saw his face. I knew him,” Elladan finally answered. 

“Who was it, Ada?” Elwen asked, as spellbound as her brother. 

Elladan looked at his brother.

“It was Lindir,” Elrohir answered quietly. “Lindir came to save me.”

“But Uncle Lindir was here!” Ellaer said. “Uncle Lindir said to remember he was here!”

“He was here,” Glorfindel said. “While Elladan and Elrohir saw Lindir with them, Lindir was here, dreaming of it. When he awoke from the dream, he was so disturbed from it that he woke me and insisted that we had to go to your father and uncle. The very next morning he and I left Imladris with a company of guards to join up with the patrol.”

“What happened when you got there?” Ellaer asked anxiously. “Did they recognize Uncle Lindir?”

Glorfindel nodded. “They did. And Lindir was wearing the same armor that the elf who saved Elrohir wore, and he was carrying the very same sword.”

“Was it really Uncle Lindir, Uncle Erestor?” Elwen asked. “Was he really there AND here at the same time?”

“It was really Lindir, little one,” Erestor answered the elfling. “He had dreamt exactly what Elladan and Elrohir saw that night.”

“But how?” Ellaer asked.

Elrond stood and walked to the sideboard to pour a glass of wine. “Lindir and Elrohir are soulmates, just as your parents are,” he said. “Even though they were not formally courting, their souls already knew each other. They were blessed by the Valar. When Elrohir was in danger, Lindir’s soul reached out to him in the only way it could – through his dreams.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Elwen said as she settled herself against Erestor’s chest and buried her little hands in his robes. She was tired and Uncle Erestor was always so warm and comfortable.

“Some things we cannot understand, little one,” Erestor said softly, wrapping his arms around Elwen. “They just are. The Valar sent Lindir to save Elrohir that night, and that is all we need know.”

“And did Uncle Elrohir stop seeing that other elf he went out walking with after that?” Elwen asked around a large yawn.

“He did,” Lindir answered, looking up at his mate, the love shining in his eyes. “That very night, at the foot of the Misty Mountains, we said our vows in front of your father and Glorfindel.”

“That very night,” Elrohir whispered in Lindir’s ear so no one but his mate could hear, “you took me to your bed and made me your own, and I bound myself to you forever. That very night I finally knew what love really was.”

Lindir gently wrapped a hand around Elrohir’s neck and drew him in to a warm, loving kiss, blind to all in the room but his mate. “I love you,” he whispered against Elrohir’s lips when the sweet kiss finally ended.

“I love you,” came the whispered reply before Elrohir pressed his lips to his mate’s once again.

“The children have fallen asleep,” Celebrían whispered as she joined Elrond at the sideboard to pour wine for the rest of the adults.

“The rain is finally letting up,” Erestor said quietly, cocking his head and listening as the storm began to dissipate. “The thunder grows faint.”

Elladan moved to the fireplace and placed more wood on the fire, stoking the flames. Anoriel wrapped the children in soft, light blankets as they slept on Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s laps, and Arwen draped a quilt over Lindir and then brewed a fresh cup of tea for him. 

They talked quietly as the storm cleared. Elrond pushed aside a drape and opened a window to the night sky. Bright stars peeked through the clouds and cool air wafted in. Arwen was the first to leave, quietly kissing her parents goodnight. Erestor and Glorfindel carried the still sleeping elflings to their beds, escorted by Elladan and Anoriel, before finding their own bed. With one final check on Lindir, Elrond and Celebrían nodded to their son and his husband and left for their bedroom. 

“Can you walk to our room, or would you like to stay here tonight?” Elrohir asked softly before tenderly kissing his mate. Lindir was already attired for the night, and if his mate didn’t want to move, Elrohir was content to stay on the couch in his parents’ sitting room.

“Bed,” Lindir responded, “and I can walk, so don’t get any ideas about carrying me.” He slowly pushed himself away from Elrohir and sat up, happy to find his head wasn’t spinning and he felt well.

“Well, Glorfindel did carry you here,” Elrohir said, smiling. He stood, holding out a hand to help Lindir up. “Come along then, old elf.”

“Only because I was unconscious,” Lindir said, taking Elrohir’s offered hand and pulling himself up. “Old elf indeed. Young one. I think I shall write a song about the destruction of Glorfindel’s tapestry for the needle workers. The Fall of Gondolin in this age. What do you think? The mighty Glorfindel survives and saves the poor minstrel. There’s blood and a fierce storm and everything. Very dramatic.”

Elrohir laughed softly but did not reply. 

The walk to their room was short and in scant minutes the two dark-haired elves were snuggled under the covers in their bed. Elrohir seldom had an opportunity to take care of Lindir. Ever since his childhood, and especially since the night that Lindir had mysteriously saved him, it usually felt like the older elf was the one taking care of him. He curled around Lindir, feeling the overwhelming need to keep his mate safe.

“Elrohir,” Lindir whispered, feeling the need roll off of his husband. Recounting the story from all those years ago had somehow brought all the emotions back to the surface, except this time it was in reverse. “I am safe. You have me, love.”

“I have you.”

“Yes, you have me, as I have you,” Lindir whispered.

Elrohir raised himself up on an elbow and gazed into beloved grey eyes, seeing wisdom, knowledge, and most of all love. Warrior, poet, musician, maker of songs and legends: Lindir was all that and more. And he belonged to Elrohir. Now and forever. He bent his head and kissed Lindir’s soft lips. 

When they joined together as lovers do, it was soft and gentle; a reaffirmation of their love and their bond. And at the end, Elrohir’s head rested on Lindir’s chest, gently rising and falling with each breath he took. Imladris was a haven to many, but Elrohir’s haven was here with this one elf. Always a part of his life, Lindir had been his teacher and friend. He was still those things, but Elrohir much preferred him in his role as lover and mate. Breathing a sigh of contentment, Elrohir wrapped his arms around his minstrel’s waist and joined him in sleep. 

 

~the end.

Anoriel – daughter of the sun  
Elwen - star maiden  
Ellaer – star song


End file.
